The Killer Inside by Lindsay Ashford Read Free Book Online Page A

bag for one of the many lipsticks that lurked at the bottom. Her fingers closed round the silver tube of a Body Shop number called Pink Ginger. It did an instant brightening job on her face. Glancing down, she adjusted the long silk scarf that had slipped into two unequal tails on the walk from the prison. Great things, scarves, she thought, for hiding a bulging tum.
    Pulling a wry face at herself in the mirror, she reached for the door. She’d long since stopped worrying about what she looked like next to Delva, who was a statuesque West African with Naomi Campbell cheekbones. The last time the two of them had been out together they’d been called ‘an exotic pair’. The comment had come from an elderly man who wassomewhat the worse for drink and he had incorrectly guessed that Megan was Brazilian. People usually had her down as southern European. Her mixed Welsh/Indian heritage was an unusual one and she liked the way it kept people guessing.
    She walked through to the bar and immediately caught sight of Delva’s braided hair, which twisted round her head like a sculpture. She was chatting to the barman, who was beaming at her, no doubt revelling in the kudos of serving someone he’d seen on the telly. Delva was anchorwoman on the local news channel and she had just finished her shift. In a red linen pencil skirt and cropped jacket, she looked as if she’d just stepped off the catwalk. No matter how hectic her day had been, Delva’s clothes were always immaculate. Megan wasn’t sure how she did it. She supposed that being on camera every day made her ultra-conscious of her appearance.
    But Delva’s personality was the total opposite of the model-girl image. Off screen, when she opened her mouth the first thing you were likely to hear was her amazing, throaty laugh. It was so loud and so deep that it took people by surprise. It was the kind of laugh that made it almost impossible for those who heard it to keep a straight face. Megan heard it now, booming across the room as Delva caught sight of her.
    ‘Hiya –what you having? He’s making me a Pink Lady!’ Delva guffawed at the barman, who grinned back as he poured a lurid-coloured liquid into a silver cocktail shaker.
    ‘Well, I er…’ Megan hesitated. She felt like a drink to loosen her up after the prison visit. ‘I think I’ll have a small Pinot Grigio.’
    ‘Oh come on! It’s Happy Hour!’ Delva batted her on the bottom with her Louis Vuitton handbag.
    ‘Oh, go on then!’ Megan sank onto a bar stool, suddenly aware of how tired she felt. But a few sips of Pink Ladyseemed to have a remarkable effect on her state of mind. She and Delva moved to one of the little booths at the far side of the bar where they could chat without being overheard. Delva started regaling her with tales of the latest shenanigans in the newsroom and Megan found herself almost crying with laughter. It was like listening to an episode of Drop The Dead Donkey.
    ‘Anyway,’ Delva said, downing the last of her cocktail, ‘tell me about Jonathan. How’s it going?’
    ‘Well,’ Megan said, rolling her eyes, ‘he’s in Australia at the moment as an expert witness in a murder trial. And the week before that he was in Bosnia, so I haven’t seen much of him lately.’
    ‘Bosnia? What was he doing there?’
    ‘He was with a team of forensic anthropologists, trying to identify victims found in a mass grave. It’s an ongoing thing – he’s supposed to be going back there as soon as the trial in Australia’s over and done with.’
    ‘Ugh – rather him than me.’ Delva shuddered. ‘It must be awful. ’
    Megan nodded. She had started seeing Jonathan Andrews while they were both working on a murder case in Wales. As one of only two professors of forensic dentistry in the world, he was in great demand. He was based in Cardiff, so getting together wasn’t easy. He also had a teenage daughter from his marriage, which had ended when the girl was three years old. Juggling his